


Pumpkins and Headless Riders

by beargirl1393



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Dwobbits, Halloween, M/M, ghost story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 05:11:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8433058
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beargirl1393/pseuds/beargirl1393
Summary: Bilbo just wants to sing one of his mother's songs to Belladonna before bed. Dwalin has other ideas.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt on Flight Rising, and said prompt was 'Halloween'. I don't own any of this, including Bilbo's song and Dwalin's story. I just thought it'd be cute :)

“Five little pumpkins, sitting on the gate. The first one says, ‘Oh my it’s getting late’.”

“Pumpkins can’t talk, Da,” a little voice interrupted, and Bilbo sighed as he looked down at his daughter. She was lying in bed, blankets pulled up to her chin as it had been getting cold at night, and was, apparently, bothered by imaginary talking pumpkins.

“I know they don’t, Bella, but it’s part of the song,” Bilbo said patiently, running a hand through her dark, curly hair and stroking the wispy hair on her cheeks. “Now, where was I? Oh yes, the second one said, ‘There’s witches in the air’, and the third-”

“There’s no witches,” Bella piped up, interrupting Bilbo again and causing said hobbit to sigh. “There’s wizards, like Mr. Gandalf. He makes nice fireworks. Is he coming to my birthday?”

“If you keep this up, little one, you won’t have a birthday,” Bilbo threatened, but the look his daughter gave him showed that he hadn’t done well on that front. “Oh all right, I wouldn’t cancel your birthday, but I would ban your father from giving you any more lessons with your training axe.”

That got a horrified look from the lass, because she was very proud of the fact that she had finally been deemed old enough to learn how to fight like her fathers did. Or, at least one of them anyway.

“Now, maybe we can finish this. The third one said, ‘But we don’t care’. The fourth one-” Poor Bilbo was once again cut off, this time by his partner.

“You call that a song for All Hallow’s Eve?” Dwalin asked, leaning in the doorway and watching them both with amusement. Bella was all set to scramble from bed to see him, but the look both of her father’s gave her nipped that in the bud. “You got your treats, got to eat some of them, now you have to go to bed, lass. Even if your da’s story isn’t very good for the occasion.”

“I beg your pardon,” Bilbo sputtered, puffing up like an offended hedgehog. Dwalin privately thought that it was adorable and made occasions for it to happen fairly often, but Bilbo didn’t need to know that. “It is perfectly acceptable song for this time of year. Seasonal, but without frightening her to death like some of your stories would.”

“I wouldn’t be scared of any old story,” Bella grumbled. Belladonna Baggins was as mischievous and adventurous as her namesake ever was. In the mountain, she was known as Belladonna, daughter of Dwalin, but as they were spending the holiday in the Shire, Bilbo introduced her as Belladonna Baggins and ignored Dwalin’s smirk whenever he preened about that. “Can you tell it, Ada?”

“Let your dad finish his story, and then I’ll tell mine,” Dwalin said, looking at Bilbo for permission. The hobbit grumbled but relented.

“Oh all right, now where was I? And there will be no more interruptions from either of you until I finish,” he said sternly, pointing a finger at Dwalin in particular, who strove to look as innocent as he could.

“The fourth one, Da,” Bella said helpfully, getting comfortable again as she looked up at her fathers. Two songs before bed, she wasn’t going to mess this up.

“Ah yes. The fourth one said, ‘Let’s run, let’s run’. The fifth one said, ‘Isn’t Halloween fun?’ Then-”

“How are these pumpkins talking?” Dwalin asked, but held up his hands when he got glares from both his husband and his daughter. “Alright, no interruptions.”

“Good,” Bilbo sniffed, grinning and clearing his throat before he continued. “Then ‘Boom!’ went the wind and out went the lights, and the five little pumpkins rolled out of sight.”

“It’s a good story, Da,” Bella said after a moment, Bilbo running a hand through her dark, curly hair.

“Thank you, it’s something of a family tradition on All Hallow’s Eve,” Bilbo said, smiling fondly. “Now, let’s see how your Adad’s song compares, shall we?”

“Nah, I’m not singing tonight, one of the strings on my fiddle’s broken,” Dwalin admitted, frowning. That’s what he’d spent the day doing, trying to track down the right kind of string to fix it. At this rate, he may need to craft it himself. “But, I’ve got a story to share. The tale of the Headless Rider.”

“The Headless Rider? I’ve never heard of such a thing,” Bilbo said, frowning. Even now that he’d been on an adventure, which made him very worldly by Hobbit standards.

“Well, you wouldn’t, it’s an old dwarvish tale,” Dwalin said, his expression serious although Bilbo could see his eyes sparkling. “Thought it was just a legend myself, until I met him one night.”

Bilbo scoffed, but Bella watched Dwalin attentively. She loved scary stories.

“It was one night, before Erebor was reclaimed,” Dwalin said, moving from his post in the door and coming to sit beside Bilbo on the bed. “I was in the south, having a meal in a tavern after a long day’s work when I heard the men talking about a rider on the road. Curious, I asked them what was so suspicious about that.”

Despite himself, Bilbo started to pay proper attention.

“They said that this was no normal rider. The man had his head cut off in the Last Alliance, and since then his spirit had come back, riding far and wide looking for a head to replace it. His horse had been killed too, and in Death it’s coat was black as night, and it had glowing red eyes. He found a pumpkin and carved a face into it, but it wasn’t enough for him. He wanted a proper head again. Anyone who crossed his path would be killed and their head harvested.”

Bella shuddered, but she was grinning still. The best part about scary stories was getting scared. Sometimes, it was fun to be scared.

“Well, I didn’t believe them, I didn’t believe in ghosts or riders from the dead who’d want to chop off my head, so I ignored their warnings and left after I’d eaten my meal,” Dwalin continued. “I planned to ride through the night to get to the next town, find more work. The moon was high in the sky when I left, and I was laughing to myself about the superstitious fools I’d left behind. Until, I heard hoofbeats behind me.”

Despite himself, Bilbo shivered. Dwalin looked deadly serious, as though he was truly recounting an experience that he’d had.

“Well, I thought it was one of the lads at the tavern, trying to get me to go back, so I halted my pony and turned around. What I saw nearly turned my beard white then and there,” Dwalin said, pausing for a moment to heighten the suspense before he continued. “A huge black horse with glowing red eyes, mounted by a mountain of a man with no head, just a pumpkin with a glowing, grinning face carved into it.”

“What did you do, Adad?” Bella asked, wide-eyed.

“Well, the pony I was riding wasn’t any happier with the sight than I was, and she started galloping away from that thing as fast as her hooves could carry her. Nearly unseated me, but I hung on. And behind us, I could hear the hoofbeats of that ghostly horse, getting closer despite the pony’s best efforts. Soon, I could feel the horse’s hot breath on the back of my neck, hear an unearthly cackle as a sword was unsheathed. I thought I was done for, until…”

“Until what?!” Bilbo asked urgently, and he scowled at Dwalin’s smirk. Oh, he was going to get the dwarf back for this.

“I crossed a bridge, over a river,” Dwalin continued. “And when I looked back, there was the ghostly rider on the other side, waving his sword around while his horse reared and stamped. Ghosts can’t cross running water, you see, and so he was stuck there. He could still be riding that same stretch of road to this day, looking for heads to chop off, with a sword stronger than any I could name.”

“Do you honestly expect me to believe that?” Bilbo asked, and he was pleased to hear that his voice didn’t shake.

In answer, though, Dwalin left the room briefly, coming back with an axe that had, apparently, been shorn completely in half. “You didn’t think I’d run without first trying to fight, now did you?”

Bilbo looked like he might faint again, so Dwalin took over tucking Bella in properly, letting his husband examine the ruined axe while he listened to his daughter chatter tiredly about the ghost story. Despite the small fright, it didn’t take her long to fall asleep, and before she was out completely, Bella begged him to tell it every All Hallow’s Eve.

Dwalin was pleased about how much Bella had liked his story, but he was less pleased when Bilbo absolutely refused to set so much as a furry toe out of doors after nightfall for the next few months. Apparently, ghostly riders were more terrifying than dragons.


End file.
